


His

by Zeodyme



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeodyme/pseuds/Zeodyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short drabble originally done for a friend. A view into the unusual mindset presented to us via the new movie. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His

Sherlock Holmes was a being of logic. He did not allow emotion to rule him. Emotions got in the way of reason and facts. This was something he could not let happen with the profession he kept.

So why was he so distracted? What made his mood dark and his thoughts brooding when he'd had such good cases as of late? And why did his chest constrict when he thought about Watson leaving him for that... woman!

His hands clenched into fists and lips drew back from his teeth. Anger ran through his viens like a deadly poison. Whenever he was reminded of that woman Holmes saw red.

_It had to be her. She was taking away HIS companion._

Sherlock shook his head and stood. He went to the table in the center of the room and focused on the vials and containers upon it. Focusing on his experiments would keep him from thinking about the upcoming departure.

_Watson was the only one who knew him. He was HIS friend._

Holmes would never admit how much he relied on Watson. Without the doctor nearby he couldn't think as clearly. The man inexplicably calmed him, only in Watson's presence could he truely relax.

_Watson was the only one he truely trusted. He was HIS partner._

He had tried many times, using many methods, to keep the to-be couple from happening. But they blindly continued on. It seemed nothing could keep Watson by his side, which Holmes felt was where he belonged.

_There was no one else like him. There never would be. Never COULD be._

'...There's someone coming up the stairs. The good doctor himself...'

Despite the knowledge that it was Watson, Holmes felt himself tensing. Things had become stressful between the two men. With the day of Watson's leave coming closer there was no way things could stay the same. And Sherlock's continued attempts to keep the two others apart didn't help, it put Watson in a dower mood.

The door eased open with a slight squeak. The slightly favored limp that belonged solely to John Watson paused for a second, then continued into the room. Holmes felt more than heard the other man moving, absurdly aware of the doctor's presence.

"What are you up to now?" Watson asked, gentley breaking the silence. "Another poison for the dog?"

"Nonsense. I happen to be examining the reactions of various chemicals when introduced to one another. For example, if I were to put but a drop of this in here..."

Sherlock gently squeezed the end of a dropper, allowing a single drop to fall onto a small pile of powder. The instant it hit there was a small flash of light, followed by a great deal of choking black smoke.

Coughing, Watson lunged at the window and opened it. The smoke slipped out into the foggy London air. He looked at Holmes when the man sneezed and had to stifle a laugh. The smoke had covered the detective in soot, and wide, noticably white-rimmed, owlish eyes blinked slowly.

"That was more powerful than I predicted," Holmes muttered.

Watson gave in and laughed loudly. A visible pout surfaced on Holmes' face while he brushed himself off.

_He knew he had a skewed sense of humor. It made it that much better when he managed to make Watson laugh._

The doctor sobered, though a small smile remained on his face. Finished with the minor task of cleaning himself, Holmes noticed how the doctor seemed unusually happy.

"Something good happen?" the detective asked.

"Yes, Mary's parents have agreed to meet me."

Shelock's hands twitched violently.

"Oh."

"Come man," Watson said, frowning. "Surely you're not still against Mary?"

The look Holmes gave the doctor said far more than anything he could have verbally produced.

"Oh for- what is wrong with you? What do you have against our happiness?"

"How could you think that you'd be happy with her?!"

"I do not share your dislike of the female population, Holmes! And we will be perfectly happy for many years!"

"HA! You'll see, you'll regret it when she grows old, wrinkled, and gets warts. And the lace dolies! Urgh!"

"You don't know any of that! Why in blazes are you still trying to keep us apart?"

"You're happy here! You don't need some... woman that'll tie you down and convert your attention!"

"I'll admit that I am happy here, but Holmes, I love Mary."

"Bah!"

The two men glared at each other, neither relenting. Sherlock had his back to the wall, watching the shaking angry form before him. Watson took a deep breath and hissed it out before relaxing slightly.

"I'll see you later," Watson stated coldly.

The doctor turned on his heel and left the room. His steps descended the stairs, and the front door opened and slammed shut. The tall, lanky form strode angrily up the street. Never once did he turn to look back at the dark figure silhouetted in the window.

Holmes watched, saddened, as Watson dissappeared from his vision. A silent tear slipped free unnoticed. The detective turned and went back to his experiments.

_He knew he couldn't control Watson. Just as he would never, never be able to call the doctor his._

Maybe one day he'd be able to move past the dependence he'd developed for Watson. Until then all Holmes could do was hope and focus on his work. And bottle the emotions that should not exist firmly away.

_There were many things in the world he could do and have. But it didn't matter to him. What he wanted most was forever beyond his reach._


End file.
